


debate & commiserate

by strawberrv



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Hate Sex, M/M, Rivalry, Self-Esteem Issues, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrv/pseuds/strawberrv
Summary: kihyun and minhyuk are on rival debate teams in the college circuit, and they aren't shy about letting people know that they don't get along. privately they work out their frustrations through various sexual encounters, but that hasn't been particularly productive, either. what if they just, like, had a normal conversation and became friends... haha just kidding... unless?





	debate & commiserate

**Author's Note:**

> this is so...... dumb jnskjnjksjkds hi it's me roux the one with like 5 nct wips that keeps writing mx instead !  
i truly think this is the last morsel of kihyun characterization that was in my bloodstream.. im free now...  
i've been kinda having trouble writing lately so i'm glad i finished this but it also !! is not very good so like.. if u think this isn't up to standard.. I Know. this is just a silly lil idea i had a while ago and i like kihyuk as rivals so much but not as endgame so ! i expressed that extremely specific take through this lmao. there are like. references to coping skills...? but it's Not in the same universe.. an au of my own au ? is that very wack? rip.  
alternate title: two scorpios one bathroom?

this is such bullshit.

kihyun’s grip is growing white-knuckled on the edges of his index cards, carefully handwritten points and rebuttals and high level vocabulary blurring as his eyes slide out of focus, as his heart beats more insistently.

this is bullshit.

kihyun shuffles through his cards again, glancing up briefly at the back of dongyoung’s head, at the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. across the stage, at the opposite podium, lee donghyuck is speaking quickly, gesturing grandly with his right arm while his left holds his own stack of index cards. the topic is standardized testing, but it doesn’t even fucking matter, because this is _bullshit._

jeongyeon did a good enough job with the first proposition, and dongyoung did — _fine_ at the second, and really, there shouldn’t be a clear winner this early in the debate, but because of the way that this is bullshit, the opposition is clearly winning. meaning, not them. kihyun looks behind him, at jimin, who is shakily going over the third proposition, and kihyun puts his head in his hands. he’s the rebuttal, he’s their reply man, and he cannot fuck this up. his is the last voice the judges will hear, so he has to be the best, the most concise, the most confident.

he watches jimin’s prop and jihyo’s subsequent op as if from space, completely detached from his body as he shuffles and reorganizes his index cards for the millionth time, dully recognizes the sharp pain of a papercut on his ring finger as he does it. all too soon, jimin is walking past him, backstage, pale and sweaty, and kihyun gives him a cold pat on the back. there’s a two minute allowance for talking to your team, and kihyun takes it, showing their yellow paper to the judges.

“oh my god,” jimin says, as they all gather around next to a rack of abandoned theatre costumes.

“i know,” dongyoung says, running a hand through his hair and undoing his top button. jeongyeon readjusts her tie, and says, “they’re _killing_ us. how the fuck are they killing us on standardized testing?” and everyone looks to kihyun, because he’s team captain, he’s their rebuttal, he’s their reply man. he’ll figure this out, get them the win, somehow, because that’s always how it goes. except, that’s not really how it’s been going recently. 

“listen, it’s not over until closing statements,” kihyun says, mostly to pacify them while he thinks.

“yeah, but they’ll get the last word. ugh, i fucking hate prop,” dongyoung grumbles, taking a sip of water.

“don’t blame the position,” kihyun dismisses with a wave of his hand. he takes a breath, straightens up.

“ok, i think i’ll ride the suicide rates a little harder. go into how it’s a more institutional problem, hardly the fault of a testing system. microsocial takes are risky, but i think i have to.”

the rest give him varying degrees of approval, but kihyun is already thinking about how to phrase it, which points to dodge and which to address.

the buzzer sounds, and kihyun turns, as if in slow motion, making his way back to the wings and squinting into the bright lights. there, leaning boredly on his podium, is the reason the goyang college debate circuit has been so lively as of late. also: the bane of kihyun’s existence. the reason kihyun’s team lost for the first time since his sophomore year. in a fucking practice round. not to mention the three other times they’d gone head to head, in both formal and informal settings, putting them squarely in a draw at the moment.

others would say that the whole team is good — kihyun’s watched them, and yeah, jihyo has good, solid defense, the kind of speech pattern that makes you believe her. donghyuck is quick on his feet, never openly disagreeing, he’s the type to prove you wrong in a roundabout way that leaves you feeling like you’ve miscounted your iq points, and yoojung is just plain intimidating.

yeah, people say the team is good, and they must be, because they win and then they _keep_ winning, and all the videos are on youtube, so it’s not like it’s a mystery. but, kihyun knows why they win, and it’s not down to team composition. kihyun _knows_ why people lean forward in their seats when they’d previously been disinterested, on their phones, why those youtube videos have thousands of views, why their first three speeches get scored in the mid-seventies out of eighty points, and they don’t look that impressive, right up until the fucking reply. perfect forty, perfect forty, perfect forty, one thirty-nine point five that gives kihyun great joy, but otherwise. yeah. 

the reason they win is lee minhyuk.

“proposition team, you have four minutes to reply.”

kihyun takes a deep breath, stills his shaking hands, and the buzzer sounds.

“i think what is most important to address are the suicide rates the opposition brought up,” kihyun says, keeping his posture in check, making eye contact with the judges as he speaks. he does not look at lee minhyuk, because that is the mistake he makes everytime he debates this team, and this isn’t a practice round; they need this win.

he goes on, and though he should be used to it by now, the replies always feel so unnaturally short; four minutes instead of the main speeches’ eight. when kihyun gets his one minute warning he’s not even most of the way through his rebuttal, and he panics, a little, and his eyes automatically dart up and over and — 

fuck, he looked at him. he looked at minhyuk, who was looking at him, eyes focused, hand scrawling notes on his own index cards at light speed, honey blond hair in his honey brown eyes. motherfucker.

“a-and, i, i think that, um.” has kihyun mentioned that this is bullshit? because this is bullshit.

“well, what’s really important is that we don’t debate this issue outside of its own impact on society; standardized tests create just that — a standard, and —”  
the buzzer sounds, and kihyun snaps his mouth shut, and he’s going to start shaking again, because one thing he _doesn’t_ do is lose track of time, he doesn’t start a sentence he knows he can’t finish, because being interrupted by the buzzer is an automatic point loss. great. fucking amazing. he lets himself look at minhyuk, now, fully, because kihyun is petty and competitive and _angry_ and he’s hoping that his reply has shaken minhyuk, just a little, because kihyun is _good_ at this, he’s the captain, and he’s competent, and — 

and minhyuk is grinning at the judges like he’s already won. the buzzer sounds again, and minhyuk says, “the exact standard that the proposition is referring to is exactly what’s harming our nation’s children,” smugness gone all at once, face set serious and eyes bright, like he’s actually passionate about standardized fucking testing. they don’t tell you this, because actual views on whatever topic is being debated aren’t supposed to matter, but if you seem like you care, it’s kind of unbeatable.

kihyun half-blacks out during minhyuk’s reply, and then jeongyeon is leading him off stage with a gentle hand on his back, and then the final buzzer sounds and minhyuk’s team is being handed the small trophy, and kihyun automatically dips into a bow to accept the fucking loser’s ribbon. he makes sure jimin has a ride back to campus before he storms out into the hall of the building, auditorium door clunking shut behind him. 

he takes deep breaths, stuffing the ribbon in his back pocket, ignoring the sting where the material brushes the cut on his finger. it always takes him a minute to come down after debates regardless, but losing gets him riled up in a way that makes his palms sweat, his heart beat up high in his chest, his knees shake. and there’s really only one way to get rid of that feeling.

“that was bullshit,” kihyun says into minhyuk’s neck. his hands are busy with the buckle of minhyuk’s belt, but his mouth definitely isn’t.

“that was such fucking bullshit. the judges were stupid, and you managed to charm them with your — _bullshit,_ but that’s not fucking fair. that’s not debate.” he runs his teeth along minhyuk’s jaw, fantasizes about ripping his jugular out, a little, and pulls his belt out of its loops in one motion, tossing it over the top of the bathroom stall. minhyuk is looking at him, and he’s smiling, that _bullshit_ smile, the one he used on the judges, and kihyun makes a wild-animal sort of noise, and pushes minhyuk into the grungy door, his head just missing the utility hook at the top. minhyuk giggles and reaches down between them to palm kihyun through his slacks.

“that’s not debate huh? then how come i’m moving on to provincial pre-finals and you’re stuck at another round of city?”

all the air is drawn out of kihyun’s lungs and his knees wobble, and his fingers scrabble uselessly against the smooth resin of the door.

“bullshit,” is all he can manage, hand finally finding purchase in minhyuk’s hair, and he pulls tight, forcing minhyuk’s chin up just a little.

“ah,” minhyuk says, and there, that’s satisfying, the way he has to cast his gaze downwards to see kihyun, the tilt of his jaw, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows.

“you’re always so _angry_ with me, ki.”

and kihyun doesn’t even want to know what he means by that, so he just kisses him to make him shut the fuck up, and something he’s starting to realize is that kissing minhyuk _hurts._ like they’re both trying to swallow each other whole, it’s gross and spitty and minhyuk wants to pull kihyun’s lower lip off his face and chew it like gum, always, and even then it probably wouldn’t be enough. what little air between them there is holds all their animosity, something primal that they suppress and restrain like rabid dogs during debate, the urge to jump over the podiums and maul each other, or something, rip each other’s notes to shreds and scream and yell and break all the rules, keep at it long after the buzzer sounds. it’s like they’ve been suffocated, and yet there’s even less oxygen when they’re together, like this.

kihyun pulls his tongue out of minhyuk’s mouth and teeths at his jaw, down his neck, canines meant to bite, to hurt. minhyuk’s hand squeezes into kihyun’s underwear, and he flips them, kihyun’s head hitting the door, and it’s stupid, how good it feels. sick and twisted, is what it is. desperate and ugly, bald-faced in their desire. and it’s not even that they want each other — not _really,_ not in any kind of way that makes sense or has an end goal. it’s all just indulgence, plain and unabashed hedonism with no purpose.  
usually kihyun wouldn’t waste his time with things like this, but.

but with minhyuk’s fingers wrapped around his cock, it’s really very hard to come up with any cons at all, to remember his points and his _reasoning;_ the hands that clutch the edges of his neatly aligned index cards are not the ones he grips the top of the bathroom stall door with, sweaty and blindly reaching above his head, as if in silent askance for some kind of holy redemption in the very moment of his sin. minhyuk pants against his collar, and all he can feel is the rush, his heart right up against his ribs like it can’t get enough, either, it’s like winning a debate times a million, it pumps his veins bursting with adrenaline. he can’t get enough air.

then, once kihyun’s pants are somewhat out of the way, and he’s uncomfortably hard, minhyuk drops to his knees, and kihyun pulls one of his hands down from the eyes of god, but before he can put it roughly through minhyuk’s sweaty blond hair, minhyuk catches his wrist, eyes the papercut on his ring finger.

“you’re bleeding,” he says, and sucks the finger into his mouth, tongue laving over the wound. the saliva stings, but the heat is going to drive kihyun crazy, knowing what’s going to happen next.

“fuck,” kihyun says, so cliche and stupid, like a high schooler, but he can’t help it. once his finger is left wet and warm to finally tangle in minhyuk’s hair, minhyuk opens his mouth, lips red and plumped from their slapdash kissing, tongue laying flat and shining wet in the wall of his teeth, and really, minhyuk sucks dick like it’s a sport. his mouth is small but he takes cock like it isn’t, like he’s posing for an ikea catalogue — insert part a into part b.

kihyun pulls at his hair, not even with particular purpose, just to do it, and his fingers hit the burning back of minhyuk’s ear, the metal caught through his cartilage hot like a playground swingset in summer. minhyuk tucks kihyun’s dick _all_ the way back into his throat, and kihyun wants to know where he learned how to do that, how to press the head of a dick right against his uvula and _swallow._ fuck, kihyun’s gonna — he doesn’t even know, yell or come or cry, something like that.

he looks down, and minhyuk meets his gaze, unabashed, eyes watering with effort, tongue pressed flat to the near-base of kihyun’s dick. it’s obscene, like those point-of-view porn videos except, like, better, because kihyun has little to no interest in blue-eyed white girls sucking him off.

minhyuk parts his lips, letting kihyun see as his dick slides out of his mouth, saliva strings bound to his lips, slipping down his chin. kihyun lets himself shudder, free hand slipping down to the utility hook as minhyuk sets up a quick little pace, tongue slipping along his shaft, pressing into the head, jaw stretched wide. he pulls the soft insides of his cheeks along the sides, and that’s it, kihyun’s done.

he says, “i, hh, i,” and minhyuk immediately pulls off, and kihyun’s hips propel forward, and minhyuk just sits, serene, letting the come hit his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his beestung lips. the pleasure lights kihyun up from the inside, burning up his bones, but minhyuk just sits. he just likes that, kihyun guesses, getting messy.

kihyun works minhyuk to his own orgasm on the floor, kneeling over him, whispering vile things in his ear all the while; minhyuk likes to listen. his hair is like a splash of honey against the wall when he comes, head thrown back, moaning loud and thick, echoing off the bathroom walls. they stay like this, kihyun’s forehead pressed to minhyuk’s temple, both panting, for a moment, and kihyun lets minhyuk hold onto him for a few moments longer, because he gets a little goofed if kihyun leaves him right away.

it’s always sort of pleasant afterwards, washing up in the sinks, too tired to be rude to each other, just comfortable. minhyuk leaves first, and kihyun waits two minutes and finds his way back to his team. jimin’s gone back already, but dongyoung and jeongyeon watch kihyun walk up with looks that are much too judgmental for kihyun’s liking.

he says, “what,” but both of them shrug and dongyoung spins his keys around his index finger as they walk out to his suv.

/

in analytical geometry, dongyoung leans across the aisle, and whispers, “is something going on with you and minhyuk?”

kihyun carefully controls his expression, doesn’t move a muscle.

“what? no, what made you ask that?”

dongyoung lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “just wondering,” which is so typically dongyoung, diplomatic and secretive and _annoying._ kihyun scoffs quietly and looks back up to the board, though he doesn’t take in any of the formulas. he’s thinking about minhyuk. about how no, there’s nothing _going on_ between them, why don’t you mind your own fucking business, dongyoung.

despite their various sexual encounters, kihyun knows next to nothing about minhyuk outside of debate. the most personal they’ve ever gotten was a quick conversation the first time they’d wound up in the bathroom together:

_“uh, before we do anything else, i have a boyfriend — he’s cool with stuff like this, but are you cool with that?”_

_kihyun had pondered for a moment who could stand to keep minhyuk’s company for long enough to fall in love with him, but just shrugged and nodded._

_“cool.”_

he wouldn’t even go so far as to call them friends; kihyun prefers the term _extra_-extracurricular activity for minhyuk.

/

the thing about always hooking up in bathrooms or abandoned back rooms or on minhyuk’s school’s travel bus, though, is that there’s never exactly the time nor convenience to actually have sex. blowjobs are great, handjobs amazing, even that one time they’d dry humped until they came, but kihyun’s kind of itching for more. and the perfect opportunity is coming up; a huge campus blowout that the other schools in the district are invited to. _everyone’s_ going, which means minhyuk’s going, which means kihyun is also, unfortunately, going. he’s excited, in a weird way, to see minhyuk. it’s not even the anticipation of getting properly dicked down, it’s just… they hardly see each other outside of debates, and kihyun’s curious, is all.

“how’s this?” kihyun asks, adjusting the buckle of his belt.

jeongyeon’s eyes lift up and over his reflection briefly, landing back on her phone screen.

“since when have you cared about my opinion?”

kihyun opens his mouth to object, but jeongyeon interrupts, “actually, since when have you cared about _anyone’s_ opinion? what’s going on, is something special happening tonight?”

kihyun shoots her a sharp look, but she remains undeterred, brows furrowed with interest.

“no, there’s nothing going on tonight. i’m — i just — it’s nothing.” he clears his throat, knowing how unconvincing that sounded.

“hmm. is that guy from your lit class gonna be there?”

kihyun pulls his shirt over his head, frustrated.

“what? _no,_ no, that’s nothing, that’s — that’s like, a fantasy, this is real.”

he thumbs impatiently through his shirts, everything either too plain or too stuffy or too preppy. jeongyeon holds up her hands in his periphery.

“alright, sorry, jeez, what’s so real about this then?”

kihyun holds up a patterned button-down to his torso.

“um, well, we’ve been messing around for a while. so.”

“_what?_ kihyun! who is it! do i know —”

“he doesn’t go to school with us,” kihyun interrupts, doing his best to placate without lying. jeongyeon considers.

“soooo he doesn’t go to school here but i _do_ know him. interesting.”

damn, she’s good. kihyun thinks he really has to make new friends, ones that haven’t seen every single one of his conversation tactics up close and personal.

“it’s nothing — it’s not like, serious. but i want to look good tonight.”

he thumbs the last button through on his patterned shirt, and decides he doesn’t hate the asymmetricality as much as he thought he did. he french tucks it and calls it done, fitting his wallet into his back pocket.

“well, in my opinion, i think you’ve achieved that,” jeongyeon says, hopping up off his bed and fixing her hair in the mirror.

“let’s head out.”

the party is, predictably, packed, one of these senior parties that goes down the whole block, and it’s not even a special event. it’s just like, the second saturday in november, but, hey, sure, why not.

finding minhyuk is like tracking down the fucking jersey devil — everyone’s seen him around, but can provide no further details. it’s like, sooyoung thinks _maybe_ he went upstairs? except, no, hyungwon saw him just now in the kitchen, but johnny thinks maybe that was him in the bathroom, but that guy was, like, openly sobbing, and kihyun scoffs, no, that definitely isn’t him. 

kihyun groans in frustration, trying to make his eyes focus as he unlocks his phone. he’s been frustrated, so he’s been drinking, though he wouldn’t say he’s wasted yet, but minhyuk had better be around somewhere and soon, or that will rapidly become the situation. he texts jeongyeon to text jihyo to ask if she knows if minhyuk’s even _at_ this stupid party, and then sits on one of the couches that someone isn’t dry humping on and stews.

he’s still craning his neck to catch blond hair, but his mind slips to thoughts of the guy in his lit class, and then to his next debate, and then twenty minutes have passed and he’s had a substantial amount of tequila, and he has to pee.

he carefully picks his way upstairs, finding the first bathroom he can and knocking on the door.

“can you, like, puke somewhere else, i really need to get in here,” kihyun groans, drink sloshing in his cup, which he doesn’t know why he’s still holding.

there’s a clatter from inside, and then a sniffling sound, like… sniffling. great job. a plus fucking deduction, kihyun.

“can _you_ go puke somewhere else?! i’m having a fucking crisis in here! bitch!”

kihyun narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth to argue, but then his alcohol addled brain catches up to him, and he realizes that the voice sounds familiar.

“wh — hey!” he says, and blinks hard, shaking his head to try and make it work better.

“you…” is what he says next, and he blinks a couple more times, replaying the other person’s words again, and pulling a thought together.

“you have the nerve to call me a bitch?! you sound like the biggest bitch of all! debate team bitch!” kihyun is mildly satisfied with this insult, because lee minhyuk really is the biggest bitch of all time, having the audacity to try and beat _kihyun_ at _debate,_ a crime so deeply terrible that he decides he’s not even in a state to process it, but then, like magic, the door opens and the aforementioned bitch stands before him.

“ugh…!” is all he can say, somehow forgetting that he connected the dots of minhyuk being behind this door mere seconds ago, and being unpleasantly surprised all over again.

minhyuk makes a sound like, _“yoo kihyun?!”_ and kihyun purses his lips, leaning forward and putting an accusing finger in minhyuk’s face.

“yes. correct. you were supposed to. to fuck me. tonight. so what do you have to say for yourself?” he spreads his arms wide, drink slipping lower in his grip, and minhyuk just stares at him. then, he very slowly takes the cup from kihyun and sets it on the counter behind him, and pulls kihyun into the bathroom.

“you’re drunk,” he says, arms crossed, and now that they’re in the harsh yellow glow of actual lightbulbs instead of just the weird colored leds and lava lamps scattered around the house, kihyun can see that minhyuk’s eyes are rimmed red, and something tugs at the back of his mind.

“hmmm,” is all he says, never one to incriminate himself. he mirrors minhyuk, crossing his arms, but he thinks the effect might be ruined because he kind of slides sideways until his shoulder hits the wall. minhyuk snorts, and then giggles.

“wow. this is. this is something. yoo kihyun, drunk.”

kihyun does his best frown, the one he does at doordash people who ask for tips.

“you haven’t… explained yourself.”

minhyuk sighs, running a hand through his hair, and even in this state kihyun recognizes it as a very non-minhyuk thing to do. he leans on the towel rack, directly opposite kihyun, but he won’t meet his eyes, biting at his lip absentmindedly.

“well, first of all, _i_ didn’t know we were supposed to be fucking tonight. you could’ve warned a guy.”

kihyun waves a hand dismissively, deciding that he’s tired of standing and lowering himself to the floor.

“i don’t even have your number.”

minhyuk blinks.

“oh. right,” he says blankly, pulling his lower lip between his teeth.

“second of all…” kihyun prompts.

minhyuk glares at him, but after a moment follows suit and kneels, sitting back on his legs and petting his palms over his jeans.

“and my boyfriend broke up with me,” he says, almost too quickly to catch, embarrassed, sad, defensive. like kihyun’s going to ask him _why._ and it all falls into place in kihyun’s stupid brain, that minhyuk is, indeed, the guy crying in the bathroom that johnny saw, that kihyun’s been insensitive, and that minhyuk is, like, a real person. quite the revelation. 

kihyun blinks slowly.

“oh…”

“yeah,” minhyuk snaps, roughly wiping his tearstreaked face. kihyun thinks for a moment, then licks his lips.

“do you… want a blowjob?”

minhyuk snorts and falls backwards, head hitting the fluffy rug by the shower door, which must be filthy, and it will bother kihyun if it goes on much longer.

“no. thanks.”

a beat. then minhyuk’s voice, thick and rough from crying, floats up from the floor again.

“do you ever think…? do you ever think, like.”

he sits up, thank god, and blinks at kihyun curiously.

“do you ever think we’d be better at being friends? than like. whatever this is.”

kihyun sighs, feeling a headache coming on.

“um… i think you would be.”

minhyuk wrinkles his nose.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

kihyun rubs a hand over his face, resting his head back on the cabinet door behind him.

“i think _you’d_ be a pretty good friend — this is off the record, by the way, i have both the will and the physical capacity to overwhelm you if you choose to bring this up at a later date — but um. for me. i… think i’m probably better at giving head. than being a friend.”

minhyuk whistles lowly, eyes wide.

“that must be pretty fucking bad because, like, your head game is honestly not even —”

_“ok!”_ kihyun says, face warming. honestly, if it were anyone else, and kihyun were sober, he’d really give them hell for that. but from minhyuk it’s. comfortable. like, minhyuk has seen him both in the heat of debate and the throes of passion — the only thing he _hasn’t_ seen is the face kihyun wears for everyone else; kihyun going to lectures, kihyun writing up rebuttals, kihyun making those pitiful spinach-tomato-and-pepper-jack sandwiches for lunch in his dorm. his strict, boring, stuffy everyday self is suddenly the stranger, for minhyuk at least, and it’s… freeing.

so, kihyun laughs, lets himself giggle for probably the first time in months, and doesn’t think about how sad that is. minhyuk laughs, too, but soon enough the smile falls from his face and he lays back down on the floor. kihyun bites his lip.

“are you in love with him? the. the guy.”

“yeah,” minhyuk says, resigned.

“damn. that fucking sucks.”

“yeah.”

minhyuk tilts his head up, eyes narrowed curiously at kihyun.

“have you ever been in love?”

kihyun groans, turning his face even further into the juncture where the counter meets the wall.

“i don’t like that question.”

“why not?” minhyuk asks, not teasing, just plainly inquisitive.

kihyun blinks at the molding, at the wood.

“i think…” he swallows drily, tongue unpleasantly fuzzy from the alcohol.

“think i’m not the kind of person. that people fall in love with.” he lifts a finger to trace the patterns in the wood grain, and he doesn’t register minhyuk moving until bony, cool arms are wrapped around him.

“wh —”

“that’s really sad, kihyun.”

kihyun winces and says, “mm,” adjusting to the sudden physical contact.

“and i don’t think it’s true.”

kihyun rolls his eyes but minhyuk barrels on before he can disagree.

“i think you’re very charming. you’re really nice to your team, even when they mess up, and you’re good at debate, and i was lying before; your head game is truly immaculate,” he says, all rushed but sincere nonetheless.

“um. thanks,” kihyun says, and lets himself relax the tiniest bit into minhyuk’s hold.

“i guess, like… there’s this guy… in my lit class, right?” minhyuk hums in acknowledgment.

“and… he’s so. normal. i guess. like he’s nice and agreeable. a little broody, but it’s kinda hot. and i just can’t… come up with a good reason he’d… be interested? like. long term. i don’t know. it’s stupid.”

minhyuk lets go, nudges kihyun to shift so they face each other.

“here, give me your phone,” he says.

kihyun frowns, but wiggles his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. 

minhyuk squints at the screen, tapping a few times and then typing something before handing it back. he’s put his number in, under _lee, debate team bitch_ so that it still shows up in alphabetical order in kihyun’s contacts. kihyun suppresses a smile.

“there, now we can help each other with rebuttals, and gossip,” minhyuk says, grinning brightly. his eyes are a little less puffy now.

“how about… friends, no benefits? strictly debate team bitches,” he proposes, kind of shyly, sticking his hand out awkwardly between them in the cramped space. but kihyun takes it, shaking it firmly once.

“debate team bitches.”

**Author's Note:**

> if u have somehow found and read and enjoyed this... thank you akjndkjnakd lmk ur thoughts!
> 
> u can find me on twitter  
[main](https://twitter.com/lookslikerain) [fic acc](https://twitter.com/rouxberrv)


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